


WIP Amnesty: In White Houses

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Infidelity, Mutual Pining, Step-Sibling Incest, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: The quintet had gotten permission to stay at the seaside summer home of Emily’s aunt for ten days.  Sheldon was also supposed to come along, but he had a sudden breakout of hives and didn’t think he should spend a week in the sun.  It was no matter; Emily was happy enough to get to spend a week with her friends… even if Derek did insist on bringing his girlfriend, if she could really be called that. A songfic for 'White Houses' by Vanessa Carlton.Originally posted in June 2007.
Relationships: Casey McDonald/Derek Venturi, Casey McDonald/Sam Richards, Derek Venturi/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in June 2007.

**° _Chapter One_ °**

Casey grinned, clapping her hands excitedly. She could feel Sam practically seizing with mirth beside her and Derek’s warm hip against her knee as he lay prone on the floor, feigning death. This was already shaping up to be the best week of her life.

° ° °

_“Freedom!” Derek sang with relish_ , channeling Aretha Franklin. He slammed the red door of the van as his feet stirred up dust. 

“Yeah, freedom!” Sam chimed in, continuing the joke, slinging both his and Casey’s large duffel bags over his shoulder.

Casey beamed at the blond boy, taking his proffered hand as she, Emily, and Jenny – Derek’s surprisingly likeable flavor of the week – joined the joyful noise: “Oh, freedom! Whoa-oh-oh-oh!”

The quintet had gotten permission to stay at the seaside summer home of Emily’s aunt for ten days. Sheldon was also supposed to come along, but he had a sudden breakout of hives and didn’t think he should spend a week in the sun. It was no matter; Emily was happy enough to get to spend a week with her friends… even if Derek did insist on bringing his girlfriend, if she could really be called that.

Casey felt a rush of anticipation as she stood on the dirt drive, staring up at the beautiful old white house. The sky was a watery blue – it reminded Casey of Monet’s _The Beach at Trouville_ , from her Art History textbook, a smattering of blues and cyans and creams. The whitewash on the two-story house was peeling a little from sun-blisters in places, the shutters beautifully chipped gray. She could see white eyelet curtains and beyond them, pastel walls, behind the scrubbed windows. The lawn was rich sunsoaked green, fragrant and making her dizzy with the smell of possibility. While they were all joking, they really were free – no school, no younger siblings, no parents, no work, no responsibilities at all. It was something to which Casey was unaccustomed, but found exhilarating. She wanted nothing more than to lie out on the beach, reading in the sun with Emily; sleep until nature woke her, not a shrill alarm; take in a few sunsets… and maybe a sunrise… with Sam.

Emily unlocked the bungalow’s heavy red door with a brass key that held the weight of gold for the five teens. She pushed the door open and walked inside, dragging her duffel bag behind her. “Home sweet home-away-from home!” she called from the entranceway.

Derek, out in the yard, slung his own bag over his back like a knapsack and scooped Jenny into his arms to walk across the threshold. Jenny was, predictably, petite and blonde and trendily dressed – she squealed when Derek picked her up and tried to hold her pleated skirt up beneath her, but everyone, including Casey, got a full view of Jenny’s pink thong.

Casey rolled her eyes and followed Sam into the lovely white house. Or at least, she attempted to: Casey’s sandal got caught on the doorstop and she tumbled to the shiny wooden floor. Thankfully her boyfriend was considerate enough to be holding her bags, leaving her hands free to break her fall, but her elbows and knees still hit the floor with a resounding crash.

Three voices met in chorus as two hands stretched toward her. “Are you OK?” asked Emily and Sam simultaneously as Derek chuckled from somewhere above, “Klutzilla goes on vacation.”

Casey tugged her sandal free of the nail on the doorstop and pushed herself up, accepting her friends’ hands. “I’m fine.” Then what she was seeing registered and she breathed, “Wow! Em, this place is gorgeous!”

The inside of the white beach house was open and airy, with shiny honey-colored wood floors and pale walls that seemed to radiate sunlight of their own. The foyer into which Casey had fallen had vanilla paint and an ornate staircase, the color of sand dollars, to the second floor. A print of the very painting Casey had been thinking of – _The Beach at Trouville_ – hung on the wall beside two of her other favorites, _The Thames Below_ _Westminster_ and _Parasol_. The late afternoon light shone through the eyelet curtains in soft-edged stripes and the tiniest glitter of neglected dust hung suspended in the air, making everyone glow.

Casey didn’t think she’d ever seen Emily look so at peace. Her smile showed that she had worried about her friends’ reaction to the house and was relieved that they seemed pleased. She looked taller, as though not having the weight of schoolwork and Dimi and her parents’ hatred of Derek – and maybe even not having to keep up with the constantly-running mouth of Sheldon – physically decompressed her. In the butter-yellow light, her brown skin looked gilded and her frizzy curls like a halo.

Both Casey and Emily had been nervous about including Jenny on their weekend adventure. Like all of Derek’s other conquests, Jenny showed up on the scene suddenly, thin and tan and carrying a curtain of long blonde hair behind her, not saying much but giggling frequently. On the five-hour ride to the lake house in Sam’s mom’s van, though, she revealed herself to be a dancer, which Casey liked, and as much an analytical gossipmonger as Emily, so they grew to be – well, not happy, Casey felt – but cautiously optimistic about her presence. She did seem to make Derek happy, at least for the moment, as she stood beside him with her head on his shoulder, and a happy Derek was a moderately agreeable Derek.

Derek was standing closest to the window; his arms crossed over his chest as though a king surveying his court. The light from behind him silhouetted his naturally messy hair and it suddenly struck Casey how broad his shoulders had become. His smirk didn’t seem so smug, it seemed to be a genuine smile. Even though he’d just called her Klutzilla, his eyes seemed to be beaming at her and Casey couldn’t help turning a little pink and returning Derek’s smile. 

Maybe this vacation would be good for them. Derek had such pretty eyes…

And then Sam’s face swam through the glittering air in front of Casey. God, he was cute. “Want to stand up, Case?” he asked, his voice teasing. 

Casey blinked and grinned at Sam. She took his hands again and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They continued to hold hands and Sam leaned in to kiss Casey. Usually, she was thrilled – every time Sam kissed her was like the first time with all the butterflies in her stomach – but for some reason, Casey couldn’t shake instead the feeling of Derek’s eyes.

As Casey contemplated a polite way to pull away from her boyfriend’s kiss, she heard Derek suck his teeth and quip, “Well, on that note.” And through her squinting eye, she saw Derek and Jenny run up the stairs.

° ° °

Casey smiled into Sam’s shoulder. Her bare feet burrowed into the warm sand and Sam tightened his grip around her shoulders. Derek and Jenny’s afternoon tryst had disturbed the peace of the evening for only an hour or so, but Emily had the sense to say that while they were busy, the other three could take the van to the grocer’s in town. They’d had a nice time – very relaxed, very domestic, Casey thought – as they had picked out their foods for the night. All the while, though she laughed with Emily and batted her eyelashes at Sam, she couldn’t help but think of Derek and Jenny back at the house…

In her mind’s eye, Casey saw Jenny muss Derek’s auburn hair with ecstasy-distended fingers. She imagined Derek’s hands on the tan bottom she had so gratuitously seen under Jenny’s short skirt. She imagined the pale sage green walls of the guest bedroom closing in on the pair in the bed as they drew close and blasting away like a balloon bursting when they exploded. She saw Derek’s brown eyes shining. 

She felt annoyed.

“It’s just so thoughtless,” she seethed. Emily and Sam jumped.

“What is?” Emily asked, looking a little anxiously at the ground beef in her hand. “I mean, I knew Lizzie was trying to become a vegetarian, but I thought you…”

“Not that,” Casey mumbled, suddenly acutely aware how unaware she had been throughout the shopping trip. “Burgers are fine, Em. I meant – I meant that Derek and Jenny are… being thoughtless.”

“Case? We’re not even there,” Sam reminded her, twisting a curl near her face around his finger.

“I know!” Casey exclaimed. “It’s just – it’s Em’s aunt’s house, not theirs. And they’re – they’re getting it all…”

Emily and Sam were laughing at her and she shut her mouth. 

“It’s OK, Case,” Emily giggled. “I’m sure my aunt expected a bit of it.” 

When Emily turned away to put the ground chuck in the shopping carriage, Sam kissed Casey’s cheek gently and whispered in her ear: “Besides, I thought we were going to try to get the bed all…” he paused, mocking her, nuzzling her ear all the while. “Finally.”

Casey blushed scarlet. For the last two months, she and Sam had been trying to consummate their relationship, but something always went wrong. She knew that this week was their best chance.

After shopping, they drove back to the white house, where they found a freshly-showered Derek and Jenny waiting for them in the front room. Casey felt an unbidden surge of anger as she pictured Derek, beads of water on his well-developed freckled shoulders, his wet hair a mess, towel around his waist, exposing what Casey considered to be unreasonably perfect abs.

That was her sight every morning. Not for Jenny.

° ° °

It was there in the front room that it was revealed to Casey that both Derek and Sam had brought beer on their trip, and Emily was actually looking forward to sneaking a few bottles from her aunt’s wine cellar in the basement. Casey had protested, of course, but found that the atmosphere of the night softened her resolve.

Derek had found an apron in the kitchen and insisted on grilling the burgers while Sam, relegated to “Assistant Chef,” prepared the fixin’s. Emily, Jenny, and Casey had watched surreptitiously, giggling, through the curtains of the kitchen window as the two boys played on the back porch, drinking amber bottles of beer and pushing each other.

They were so different, Derek and Sam. 

Derek, standing at the grill in his stupid blue woman’s apron, had a laugh in his pretty eyes as he twirled his spatula, turning burger-flipping into an aerial sport. His dark, messy hair lifted in the sea breeze as he tilted his head back, laughing at Sam. His lips pursed as he lifted the beer bottle to take a sip. It may have been each girl’s imagination, but Derek winked at the window – and seemed to be winking right at Casey, Emily, Jenny hiding behind the filmy white curtain. Derek was the physical embodiment of fun.

Sam was gentler, paler, blurrier somehow. His shaggy blond hair hung neat around his face under a knit cap, his eyebrows lowered in concentration as he meticulously followed Emily’s recipe card for macaroni salad. He ticked as Derek pretended to throw the grilling spatula at him, then shook his head in frustration, his cheeks pink, taking another long swig of lager. He looked up into the kitchen window as he stirred the massive yellow ceramic bowlful of pasta, and this time Casey knew the shy smile was for her. They would try again that night.

The girls had tumbled out the kitchen door as one when Derek waved them outside, yelling an ironic, “C’mon and git it!” Jenny, to Casey’s disgust, seemed to take it a bit literally as she grabbed Derek’s face in both hands and kissed him like he had just returned from the second World War.

Casey watched with a mixture of apprehension and reluctant excitement as Emily uncorked a dusty green bottle of Zinfandel with a silver contraption that looked like a medieval torture device. Sam squeezed Casey’s hand as she accepted a long-stemmed balloon glass of the cranberry red liquid from Emily. Derek hollered at her, proud of Casey for stepping out into her own light on this adventure, as he handed her a china plate with a sloppy, burnt burger and a mess of mayonnaisey macaroni salad. 

Casey’s heart was pounding with the absurd perfection of it all. 

Everything was frozen, floating on the balmy breeze, the sunset almost at its death. Twilight hung as immobile as two teenage lovers caught in the moment between chastity and wholeness, starkly naked: the breeze paused in hyper-vigilant hyperventilation against wet exposed skin like suede, a delicious slipperiness; sounds hesitated, reluctant to stir from their lackadaisical rest to venture out through the strange and alluring breeze – a chain of command of canine barks caught in hairy throats, a great foghorn blast took his verse in his soliloquy in some ancient tribal language of sadness and gladness about the men in oiled boots who built the industrial world, the cracking thud of a baseball bat connecting with a worn leather ball from a long ways down the beach, at someone else’s cottage, punctuated the soft babble of cicadas like an afterthought. 

Beneath a veneer of frosted glass, an orb of three-atom nitrogen and oxygen molecules sheltered the dependent world below with a phosphorescent cradle, the unfathomable roundness of the exosphere. There are some nights that the insignificance of Earth is so obvious from the sheer greatness of the universe surrounding it, the sky looking so round and ripe and full, darker at the top like looking up through a crystal ball, it seems the sky must be the sweetest summer berry and Earth just one of its seeds, and this was one of those nights. It seemed plausible that there really were other planets out there spinning on their axes, hot and bright or gaseous cold, and Earth really was no different, and everyone on every planet was the same in their differing sameness of individuality.

Twilight was contained. 

Night above and sunset not quite over below, the colors paused in their swirling shades of amethyst and bayberry, veined with blackberry wine and peacock teal feathers, flecked with pinpoint white stars and the fading fiery citron of sunlight. Casey marveled at the feeling of Sam’s hockey-calloused hand in her own, the ring of Emily’s laughter, the smell of browned beef and malted barley in the air, the taste of the Zinfandel – wet and buttery, light tannins tingling her throat after she swallowed and the deceptive taste of currants and caramel on her tongue – in her mouth. The sight of Derek’s white smile.

Every one of her senses was caught up in the moment. She didn’t object to a third glass of wine or a fourth, everything just seemed so _funny_. 

Now she and Sam sat down the beach near the water, still just able to hear Derek, Jenny, and Emily laughing. The lapping waves reflected the light of last of the sun and the birth of the moon. The sun had reached the horizon line and blazed hydrogen-helium passionate red, too bright for eyes and too weak to light the night. Save for the blinding stripe of sundown – a Mie Scattering of atomic tangerine, cadmium, and ochre; molten lava and acacia yellow – the sky was rich grape blue, smoother than rain. Then, at the bottom of the world, the sun exploded in a green flash and quietly died. In the new nighttime, Sam tilted his head towards Casey.

His lips were soft and tasted like roasted sweetness, caramel and grapefruit and noble hops. Casey knew that she, too, tasted of alcohol and silliness, but let Sam’s tongue – cold from all the beer – into her mouth all the same. She adored Sam. She liked how he kissed, so gently she thought their lips could float away. She loved the feeling of his hands in her hair, combing it out with his fingers and twisting it away from her neck.

“Casey,” Sam whispered, kissing just below her ear again, “I’m glad we’re here.”

Casey smiled and Eskimo-kissed Sam’s face, letting her eyelashes tickle his nose. “Me, too. My more-than-friend Sam.”

Sam grinned brilliantly and kissed her again sweetly. “My more-than-friend Casey.” With a tonguey kiss, Sam shifted his weight, gently laying Casey down on her back.

“Sam,” Casey whined, “not here, it’s all sandy… later, in the house.”

“I thought you thought that’d be rude,” Sam murmured, kissing Casey’s neck and following her neckline down to the first button on her blouse. He nuzzled at it gently, unbuttoning it with chilly fingers. “And it’s so beautiful here. You’re so beautiful out here… under the moon…”

Casey felt one air-cooled hand on her breast, over her pale green bra. Even though now was not the time or place, Casey wished that once – just once – Sam would bypass the formality, stop being so courteous, and just take what he wanted. Her breasts were nothing new to him anymore, why was he so damn nervous? Still… he was sweet. “Sam, not here… later, I promise.”

“But it’s so perfect now,” Sam whined. “What if it – you know,” he trailed off uncomfortably. “Doesn’t… work… later?”

“Then it’s not the right time,” Casey said gently, cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead. “But it will be. Sometime. Just not right now. Later tonight. Besides,” she said, her ears perking up, “I think I hear Derek howling for you.”

She was right. Somewhere far up the beach, where the white house spilled light out onto the sand, Derek was calling, “Sam! Case! Get up here!”

Derek was annoyed. He didn’t want to think what might be happening down on the beach. As much as he felt bad for perpetually blue-balled Sam… he hoped he was, at that moment, the cause for Failed Attempt #16. Derek used the porch railing to pop the top off another beer. “Sam! Case! Stop fucking and get up here!” 

The looks on both Casey’s and Sam’s faces when they approached the porchlight were enough for Derek to know that he had, in fact, likely achieved his goal.

° ° °

Casey grinned, clapping her hands excitedly. She could feel Sam practically seizing with mirth beside her and Derek’s warm hip against her knee as he lay prone on the floor, feigning death. This was already shaping up to be the best week of her life.

After she and Sam returned to the porch, Derek had thrust another beer into Sam’s hands, and the five teens had headed back into the charming bungalow. They had started sitting around on the sofas and chaises-longues of the sitting room – a pretty dusky rose room with crystal lamps – but quickly had devolved into a giggling pile of bodies on the floor playing a rowdy game of spoons. 

After Jenny had proven herself surprisingly adept at hanging a spoon from her nose, giggling all the while, Derek had put his empty beer bottle on the floor and spun it. 

Derek kissed Jenny. Jenny kissed Emily, and Derek catcalled. Emily kissed Sam, much to Casey’s chagrin, and Emily’s disappointment. Sam kissed Derek – once Casey and Jenny pushed the two boys into each other face first. Then Derek spun the bottle again, remarking that he ‘always won’ Spin-the-Bottle.

The mouth of the bottle pointed squarely at Casey.


	2. Chapter 2

**° _Chapter Two_ °**

Casey slumped against the cold windowpane sadly as the sun painted the early-morning sky waterlily pink and sherbet orange. Peonies and gardenias seemed to lift their brilliant heads towards the liquidy light. Summer was all in bloom. Casey sighed, looking over her shoulder to where he lay, mussed in her blankets. Summer was ending soon.

° ° °

Casey stared open-mouthed at the brown glass bottle on the floor, pointing so mockingly at her. She could feel Sam seizing with laughter beside her and heard him whimper as tawny beer came shooting out of his nose. On her other side, Derek had pretended to faint dead away and lay flat with a hand over his brow.

“Ow! Shit, Derek,” Sam snorted. “Get up and kiss her… bastard, my nose hurts now.”

Derek groaned from the floor. “Why are you begging me to kiss your girlfriend? That’s not right.”

“You were OK with me kissing _your_ girlfriend,” Emily pointed out. Jenny nodded pointedly, her eyes, thickly lined with mascara, open wide and innocent, suggestively running her hand up Emily’s leg.

“That,” Derek said disgustedly, “was hot. Me kissing Casey is – is – ”

“One of the rules of the game,” Jenny said, tickling Derek’s ribs. He sat up, grumbling.

“I’d rather kiss Sam again.”

“Never gonna happen, dude,” Sam chuckled, wiping his nose on his sleeve and using the hem of his henley to sop up the flat beer on the floor. “Kiss Case! Kiss Case!”

Casey shot Sam a dirty look, feeling betrayed. Sam wanted her to kiss another guy! What was wrong with him? Sam wanted her to kiss Derek, one of her least favorite people on the planet.

Well, not exactly true. Not anymore. But it was the thought that counted.

“Ugh,” Derek whined. “C’mon, Case. Let’s get this over with.” He scooted towards Casey and threw their friends a look over his shoulder. “You’re all going to hell.”

The look in Derek’s eyes changed as he leaned towards Casey. Casey stared into his chestnut eyes, trying to read them, but they were like a cuneiform tablet, ancient and mystical, full of secrets that she just needed to study harder to be able to unravel. His eyelashes were smudged silken charcoal when he closed his eyes and Casey shut her own, willing him to turn his head at the last moment, or say something snide, even to bite her nose, anything other than kiss her. 

As soon as Derek’s lips touched hers, Casey regretted the Zinfandel – surely it was the reason that she enjoyed that kiss, that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, a shiver in her spine, the tingle in her nipples telling her they must indubitably be visible through her blouse, something deep in the pit of her stomach dropping like a stone into water. Surely it was just that sinful wine, boysenberry poison with brambly sweet spiciness, that kept her from pulling away quickly from that kiss.

From pulling away at all.

Derek wanted to understand Casey by the end of their kiss. He was determined. Casey was a benchmark he couldn’t pass, a psychological workout that made him nervous; she was the ultimate Rorschach inkblot. She stood out starkly, a brilliant contrast to her surroundings wherever she went, everyone seeing her differently and with no real image. She was indefinable. She was a flame, a blossom, a cat, a vagina. As a flame she burned brighter than anyone else in the crowd; self-sustaining; heat and light, uncontrolled and pathless; flying and leaping in a gradient of vermilion and turmeric yellow, leaving no space to ignore her until she burned out into a cold pile of ashes on the floor – usually at his own provocation, a snide comment or well-placed insult. When Casey was a daisy she was clearly structured and flawlessly shaped, pure and clean and in existence solely to create smiles and to inspire nostalgia: she loved me, she loves me not – and then she was a cat, aloof and superior and cold, her claws extended past the gritty quick and quick to remind that she was queen. 

Derek wanted to sate Casey the Vagina, on whom he had spied in the shower, frustrated beyond belief after watching her practice dance in his living room yet again, her leg thrown above her head at an impossible angle, her hands traveling her sides sultrily under the pretense of ‘art.’ In his mind, Casey was a tease. She loved to flaunt her body and refused to use it. She wanted everyone to see her, to notice her, to ache for her and masturbate to her, but seeing or touching the temple of her self-worth was verboten… except at that moment, when he’d had to silently slip his hand into his jeans or face death, watching her through the shower door, wanting to step under the stream of hot water and feel her skin, solve the mystery hidden behind the neat, trimmed hair that grew shyly beneath her perfect stomach. Sodden, weighed down by the water, the helixes tangled, pressing against her skin, hiding revealing white wrinkles, silhouetted ridges, the flush pink bulb and crest, and Derek imagined how she would taste. Too infatuated to be embarrassed, he’d gotten himself off with a tiny sigh from inside the closet staring at Casey’s alabaster upturned breasts, perfectly spherical and set high, unsullied iridescent opals in the strange filtered light of the bathroom.

Derek wanted to make Casey feel that moment through this kiss, this ‘perfectly innocent’ Spin-the-Bottle kiss… the one her boyfriend had urged.

The tip of Derek’s tongue parted Casey’s lips gently. He felt evilly victorious.

Derek had been devastated when Casey had gone for his own best friend – Derek and Sam hadn’t spoken for weeks, building a vacuum chamber for their feelings; a void they inhabited solitarily together, blue in the face, floundering. After a dramatic fistfight in the J.S. Thompson cafeteria – supposedly over a stolen orange; really over a pair of stolen cantaloupes – they reconciled: Derek’s clear dominance allowing for Sam to make only the smallest of transgressions against Casey.

Casey fell heart first into the kiss, both cursing and thanking Emily’s wine for the dizzy state she blamed for letting Derek’s tongue into her mouth, tasting so much like Sam’s had down by the water, like yeasty crispness and unctuous herbal apricot…

Sam!

Casey flushed bright red, pushing Derek away, and felt like she’d just had a bucket of ice water poured over her.

Sam was staring, open-mouthed, at Derek and Casey, and he couldn’t have looked more stunned if he’d just been hit in the head with a sledgehammer.

Casey did the only thing she could think to do.

“Der-ek!”

Hand to his stinging cheek, Derek rubbed his jaw as he watched Casey storm off. She’d actually slapped him. She’d never slapped him before – pushed him, shoved him, once even thrown him onto his bed, which he’d loved – but never slapped him. His eyes slid over to his best friend.

° ° °

Casey had her head on her knees, her hands in her long brown hair. After she’d fled the pretty pink sitting room, she made it only to the top of the stairs. Her curiosity had the better of her; what was Derek _thinking_?

After looking sideways at Sam and seeing that he wasn’t about to be punched, Derek had simply grabbed Jenny around the waist, laying her flat on the carpet, and kissed her. Emily and Sam exchanged a look of mixed relief and confusion – perhaps, as in love with Sheldon as she was, Emily was still not quite over Derek – and Sam had even removed his cap to scratch his head, puzzled.

Why had Derek kissed her that way? He didn’t seem that drunk – he seemed a bit tipsy, maybe, laughing too loudly and dancing with less rhythm than usual. He didn’t seem drunk enough to kiss her that way, to press his lips against hers with so much fever. She’d never had a kiss so sensuous in her life – and from her own brother!

_Stepbrother_ , she corrected herself automatically. He wasn’t _really_ her brother.

Casey reminded herself of that fact whenever she saw him standing at his locker, looking so suave in his leather jacket, shaking his hair out of his eyes to wink at passing girls who were nothing at all like her. After hockey practice, when he’d come home sweaty and smelling to the high heavens, his reddish hair plastered down around his face, some kind of violent, sexy glory still coursing red-hot behind his eyes. Coming out of the bathroom after a shower, water still beading on his broad shoulders, a towel knotted low around his waist… it would be so easy in that moment to follow him into his room, rip off that towel and drop to her knees…

Casey shook her head fiercely, clearing it of the image that made her feel warm between her legs. She shouldn’t want Derek to want her, but she did. 

Terribly. 

Horribly. 

Casey couldn’t quite shake the warmth she felt after that kiss and her mind began to dwell on her darkest secret: she liked to listen to him at night through the vent. The sound of him snuffling away in his sleep was comforting. Casey always woke before Derek so she could see him stumble blearily out of his bedroom, looking like a human teddy bear, to pass her on his way to the bathroom. She loved the idea of him in bed, curled up in his soft blankets that smelled like soap and sweat and sometimes pizza from when he would sneak food to his room. He was so peaceful in his bed, so unlike the terror that chased her around the house during the day.

Derek sometimes snuck girls into the house in the middle of the night. Casey liked to listen through the vent on those nights best – Derek was good at keeping quiet, and he never said the girls’ names, so she could, shamefaced, pretend that it was she in his bed. On those nights, the first clue would be a soft laugh from Derek, not his usual self-satisfied chortle but a gentle, pleased, genuine laugh. At that infinitesimal sound through the vent, Casey would, hating herself all the while, take off her pajamas and close her eyes. She would focus all of her energy on that vent between their bedrooms, letting her hands follow Derek’s sounds.

Somehow, on those nights that she could hear Derek’s bedsprings squeaking and moved her fingers to Derek’s rhythm; some other girl whispering his name, muffled by his freckled shoulder, and Casey would whisper it with her under her breath, terrified of being heard; his one last shuddering sigh at the end, maybe a beautifully dirty word or two sneaking loudly enough through his lips to reach Casey’s ears… those were better than anything she had yet found with Sam.

Shifting uncomfortably and crossing her legs, Casey watched surreptitiously through the banister. Her face fell as she watched her friends below. Emily had both literally and figuratively let down her hair, singing along to the music that Sam had put on the stereo.

Casey was put out that Sam hadn’t reacted to her kiss with Derek. Other than a drunken slug to the arm, Sam had just shaken his head and laughed along with the darker boy. Why? How could Sam not be upset? Half an hour earlier, Derek’s tongue had been in Casey’s mouth – Sam’s best friend’s tongue in Sam’s girlfriend’s mouth! Now it was as though nothing had ever happened; Sam and Derek were jokingly tangoing together across the sitting room while Emily and Jenny laughed and laughed.

The song changed to an R&B song that Casey didn’t know; it sounded like beeps and whirrs and a butter-smooth voice. Jenny leapt up from the sofa with a squeal and began to dance, her long blonde hair flowing behind her like a horse’s tail. She danced and danced, a whirling dervish possessed, her short skirt flipping up and her feet twirling on the eggshell berber. 

She was so pretty. Painfully pretty, just like Kendra and Sally and all of the others had been. They had a confidence about them, a surety that Casey could never quite grasp. No matter how many trophies she won or A-ridden report cards she brought home, Casey simply could not feel positively about herself. Casey knew that she shouldn’t be jealous of those girls – for one thing, Derek was her stepbrother, and for another, she was smarter, more talented, cleverer.

But Derek didn’t want her, and Sam couldn’t take her. And that made all the difference.

Casey ran her hand through her hair again, hiding at the top of the stairs of that beautiful white house, watching Jenny dance.

“Hey, beautiful,” said a quiet voice right in front of Casey, stirring her abruptly from her reverie. Sam sat on the step ahead of her, facing her with a smile.

He was _so_ cute.

“Hey,” she said miserably. “Looks like you left a good party.”

Sam grinned cheekily. “I’d rather make my own party. With you. What do you say?”

Casey leaned forward and kissed Sam. “As long as it’s not sandy.”

° ° °

_Tudor rose_ , Casey thought, _hibiscus pink, raspberry parfait_ … _spring blossom_ …

That was the color of the walls of her guest bedroom, and she just couldn’t tear her eyes away. It wasn’t a comforting color; it was too like the messy reddish skin slopping together further down her body as Sam waffled his way through trying to make it good for her.

Again.

Sam really was beautiful; an Adonis, even – tall and tan and muscular and impossibly blond. His voice was deep and sexy and soothing, but…

Derek’s shriek of laughter floated up the stairs and Casey felt a pang that she was quite sure had nothing to do with the motion of Sam’s tongue.

_Pink ruffle_ …

Sam finished his awkward attentions and slid back up the bed, kissing Casey on the cheek. Casey quickly recomposed her face to one of delight.

“That good?” Sam asked hopefully, stoking her cheek.

### Snowdrop center…

“Of course,” Casey said, kissing his fingers. “You’re always wonderful. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam sighed, smiling, and Casey’s stomach sank. She did love him. She did. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t –

The headboard of the next room hit the wall with a loud bang and Casey realized, nausea turning her stomach, that the party downstairs must have ended. Again in her mind she saw Derek, godlike and naked, latissimus dorsi striped and rippling under his softly freckled skin as he wrapped his arms around Jenny. She imagined Jenny’s stupid shiny pink lips closing around Derek’s – Casey swallowed the sad lump in her throat.

Casey realized that Sam’s heavily calloused hand, fingertips from playing bass, palm from handling a hockey stick, was on her breast, touching it as gently as if he was afraid it would break, floundering like he was a stranger on a busy foreign street where he didn’t know the language.

_Bunny nose_ …

“Oh, Sam,” Casey sighed, snuggling closer to him. His naked body was warm, too warm. How could a person be so warm? His snarled hair brushed the top of her thigh, making her skin itch, when she threw a leg over his hips, startling him. “It’s not sandy here…”

She kissed him and tasted stale beer and her own taste on his tongue: unpleasant. But it was Sam’s kiss, and that was comforting. He was right for her. He was right for this. She’d never been one to need unbridled passion – the headboard of Derek- and Jenny’s bed knocked their wall again – she just needed stability. And Sam was stable. He was a good boy. A good man.

“Let’s give it a shot,” Sam said, steeling himself. He and Casey had tried this fifteen times before, and something always went wrong. Someone came home, someone called one or the other of them on the phone, Casey started to cry, _he_ started to cry…

Kissing Casey sweetly, Sam reached uncomfortably to the nightstand, the condom wrapper crackling so loudly it sounded to him and Casey like a lightning storm as he tried unsuccessfully to tear it open one-handed. Sam sat up and turned away from Casey to rip open the metallic blue parcel, the smell of rubber making his nose wrinkle. He rolled the condom on nervously, his fingers slipping on the low-grade lubricant. Where to put the wrapper? Where to –

“Sam,” Casey said impatiently. “Just put the wrapper on the nightstand, OK?”

_Littlest piggy pink_ …

Sam draped himself over Casey like a heavy blanket, fumbling his way. Between the tangled wire of his hair and the cold stickiness of the lube on the condom, Casey thought she would die of itching.

Derek- and Jenny’s headboard hit the wall again.

“Oh, Sam,” Casey whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around him. She could make headboards shake. She could make that happen with Sam. She could. “Sam, make love to me…”

“Casey,” Sam breathed, and Casey felt the lubey condom, like a snake, press against her stomach. “I love you… I love you so much…”

“That’s my stomach, Sam…”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled, blushing. “I guess I – ”

“Just look if you need to, Sam,” Casey said, impatience getting the better of her. “Or – here,” Casey whined. She reached down and grabbed hold of him, wishing she’d thought to do so a bit more gingerly, the lube was drying out already and seemed to coat her hand like jam. She wriggled beneath him for a moment and Sam waited with bated breath and then – “There, Sam. There. That’s where you need to go.”

And Sam couldn’t take it. With a shudder deep in his back, completely unexpectedly, Sam was overcome. And came.

“Casey, I’m so sorry,” Sam moaned, his head dropping. Stupid, stupid. 

“No,” Casey said, not entirely able to hide the annoyance in her voice. “It’s OK, Sam. Really. It’s OK.”

“No,” Sam sniffled, pushing himself off Casey and peeling off the condom, disgusted with himself. Casey saw his light eyes welling up with tears and felt terrible. She wanted nothing more than to cover herself up immediately, fix the poor boy some tea and stroke his blond hair. She was a terrible girlfriend. “Casey, it’s not OK – I – I,” he hiccupped wetly.

“Sam, it’s fine! Don’t be silly! I – I’m flattered,” Casey fibbed. “It’ll work. Sometime, when it’s right, it’ll work.”

Sam swallowed and dropped the messy condom and destroyed wrapper into the dusky rose garbage bin. Casey was too good for him…

“Sam,” Casey beckoned softly, her voice like dawn breaking. “Come back to bed. Hold me.”

Sam blinked hard and smiled. Her voice was so soothing. He turned around and there she was, sitting under the pink blankets, long curtain of silken brown hair cascading over her shoulders, bare breasts peeking over the blanket like curious, loving pets, her big blue eyes like pools at the base of a cliff: deceptively deep and baptismally refreshing. Sam smiled and crawled back into the pink bed, cuddling up against Casey’s side. With a last apology and a final kiss, he drifted off to sleep.

In the next room, Derek lay awake, Jenny’s sleeping body curled uncomfortably half-on-top of him, one of her too-thin elbows digging into his ribs. Through the wall, he heard Casey’s voice… so seductive; how he loved her voice… say, ‘Sam, come back to bed, hold me,’ and Derek wanted to punch through the wall. Instead, he lay awake, cursing Jenny’s elbow, until daybreak, light the color of crisp straw tinging the green of his walls.

In the pink room next door, Casey slumped against the cold windowpane sadly as the sun painted the early-morning sky waterlily pink and sherbet orange. Peonies and gardenias seemed to lift their brilliant heads towards the liquidy light. Summer was all in bloom. Casey sighed, looking over her shoulder to where he lay, mussed in her blankets. Summer was ending soon.


	3. Chapter 3

° _Chapter Three_ °

“Casey,” Derek breathed, his lips brushing her cheek as gently as birdsong as he spoke. Blinding rain crashed against the windows of the van deafeningly, but at that moment, Casey couldn’t hear it. Derek’s skin was smoother than satin as he shifted lasciviously against her and whispered again: “Just relax.”

° ° °

Emily inhaled deeply, hoping that the smell of muffins baking would rouse her temporary housemates. She had insisted on sleeping in the master bedroom, but her aunt’s king-size bed felt particularly empty as the sounds from the rooms on either side came, muffled, to her ears.

_Oh, Derek… there, there… Derek_ …

_Sam, come back to bed… hold me_ …

It was alright. And it was nice to have friends there outside of just herself and Casey, rattling lonely around the house, but it would have been better to have Sheldon there, sharing her aunt’s big bed, just holding her. She could have told him what she knew, and he could have held onto the secrets with her. Maybe it would have stopped them from buzzing around in her brain so loudly she couldn’t breathe, let alone sleep.

He had told her after polishing off the last bottle of a six-pack, while Jenny was in the bathroom. She’d been nursing more Zinfandel, slightly lonely, wanting Sheldon to be there so she could burrow into his arms against the breeze. Casey and Sam had disappeared down the beach and Emily could only hope that the poor girl was finally getting some pleasure. Though she’d never come out and say it, Casey was really getting frustrated with Sam. Emily could tell.

Casey liked to succeed, and Sam… Sam was adept at failing.

But apparently Derek had other wishes. Derek had chugged the last half of his lager, then hopped up onto the deck railing next to Emily. He had a blazing look on his face as he looked out towards the shore. Emily looked up from her wineglass and had the urge to put her arm around Derek’s shoulders, pat him on the back, something – he just looked a bit seasick on dry land.

Derek wiped his mouth on his forearm. “I really fuckin’ hate that they’re together, Emily.”

Emily rolled her eyes. So that was all. “I know you do, Derek, but Casey’s your sister – ”

“Stepsister,” Derek corrected, turning to face her. “She is not my sister.”

“Whatever! She’s your stepsister, and that should mean that you should be concerned for her, not for Sam. She is good enough for your precious Sam, Derek, despite what you think.”

“Emily,” Derek said, throwing his hands out in exasperation. The beer bottle slipped from his limp fingers and thudded into the sand below the railing. “Sam’s not good enough for Casey! Casey’s – Casey’s fucking perfect,” Derek spat, his hands clawing into his hair. “Casey’s perfect, Emily. I want her so goddamn badly. And Sam’s a moron, he doesn’t know what he has or what he’s doing and I – I just want to punch him in the face half the time when I see them together.”

Emily sat down hard on the railing next to Derek. She was in shock. “Derek… what do you mean, you want Casey? What are you – ?”

Derek grabbed Emily’s shoulders. For a fitful, exhilarating moment, Emily was sure that Derek was drunk enough to kiss her and quickly tried to riffle through ideas on how to tell Sheldon after the weekend was over, but Derek did not kiss her. She tried to pretend not to be a bit disappointed as Derek hung his head. “Emily, I love her.”

Emily’s heart dropped into her stomach. What was going on with the world? It had to be Armageddon. “Derek… she’s…”

“My stepsister and best friend’s girlfriend and my sworn enemy, I know. But I can’t help it.” Derek hopped off the railing and stalked over to the cooler, taking out another beer. “Emily! No one can ever know!” He lunged across the deck and grabbed her arm. Emily gazed into Derek’s frantic brown eyes as he stared holes into her. “No one, Emily. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I just fucking told you, of all people! No offense,” he added quickly. “Just – ”

“Derek,” Emily said with a smile, “I have a big mouth. I know. No need to apologize. But I know the difference between a real secret and a secret like Kelly having split-ends.”

Derek still seemed bristled, even as Jenny came back out onto the porch and wrapped her waiflike arms around his from behind, kissing the crook of his neck. Emily saw Jenny’s pink-painted fingernails draw miniscule circles over Derek’s nipple, but he shook her off and strode to the railing again. He popped the top off the new beer, still beaded with ice crystals from the cooler, and yelled towards the shoreline, “Sam! Case! Get up here! Sam! Case! Stop fucking and get up here!”

“You OK, Emily?” Jenny asked kindly, coming over and grabbing a beer of her own. “You look kinda sick.”

“Too much wine,” Emily said faintly. She would hold onto Derek’s secret if it were the last thing she would do. Just as she’d been holding Casey’s for months.

If it were up to her, neither of them would know that their feelings were mutual.

“Em, did you bake?”

Casey’s voice stirred Emily from her mournful nostalgia by the window. Apparently her ploy – to wake her housemates without having to wander into their rooms and wake them, feeling the pang of missing Sheldon as she shook the shoulders of two cozy lumps in each bed – had worked, because Casey stood in front of her in the kitchen, her hair pulled back into a neat braid, pink silk dressing gown over her pajamas.

Hopefully over her pajamas, Emily thought, a little bitterly.

“Yes, I did!” she chirruped, “Orange-almond muffins. They should be ready any moment.”

“Good thing,” Derek yawned, stumbling into the room. He was wearing long blue plaid pajama pants that obscured his feet and a bright red t-shirt. His hair was even messier than usual. He looked a little like a walking teddy bear. “I’m starving.”

“Where’s Jenny?” Casey asked, and Emily – perhaps because only she knew of the actual story playing out in front of her – detected a bite in her voice.

“Sleeping,” Derek said dismissively. “She got kinda worn out last night.”

Casey thought of the headboard hitting the wall. She imagined how she would have reacted back home, slipping out of her pajamas and imagining that her fingers were Derek’s, sliding… pressing… building rhythm… last night, she’d had Sam… but it just wasn’t…

“God, you’re disgusting,” Casey snorted as Derek slumped into a chair at the table.

“Oh, and where’s Sam?” Derek asked. Emily wondered how the prying, longing note in his voice could possible be undetectable to Casey. “Tuckered him out, didn’t you?”

Casey’s lips pursed. “I don’t need to dignify that with an answer.”

_Strike-out_ , thought both Derek and Emily. _Again_.

“Muffins coming through!” Emily sang quickly, opening the oven door and pulling out the muffin tin with a flourish. “Just let them cool for a minute.”

“Em, those look amazing,” Casey said, smiling at her friend.

“Sweet,” Derek mumbled, creeping up to the muffins, pushing Casey nonchalantly out of the way so that he could get at the food first, his hands lingering for just a second on her waist. He didn’t think she was wearing anything under that robe. Even with a strike-out, Sam was a lucky bastard. He had half a mind to go smother Sam with a pillow while he slept. He also had half a mind to ‘accidentally’ untie the sash at Casey’s waist just to catch a glimpse of her body from this close. “You might wanna make another pan, Emily. These are all mine.”

° ° °

“Emily,” Derek whined, sliding off the sofa and onto the floor. “I’m starving to death!”

“Derek, you ate four muffins this morning,” Casey said disgustedly. “You cannot be starving. Poor Sam didn’t even get to eat breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. His stomach gave an audible grumble. “Imagine how I feel! I wake up to the smell of muffins and there are no muffins to be found!”

Derek had partially eaten more than his share of muffins just to ensure Sam’s eventual discomfort. He had seen money peeking out of an envelope on the counter and, coupled with the bareness of the refrigerator, he had guessed the rest. There would be no food for Sam later, and Derek, in spite of his love for Sam, wanted the boy to suffer a little. Sam was his best friend, and while it made Derek’s soul sing that he still hadn’t taken Casey, he had gotten to sleep beside her naked body all night. Derek imagined Casey’s long legs, his favorite part of her, slung over Sam’s hip as she slept, holding the other boy close… he imagined Sam and Casey curled together like spoons, one of Sam’s brawny hands protectively covering one of Casey’s breasts…

He shouldn’t have spied on her in the shower that day. She had been too perfect, like a movie or one of the magazines he kept hidden in brown paper beneath his mattress. He could picture every inch of Casey’s body, and it made his imaginings all the more trying. In his mind, Sam morphed into him, Derek, and it was his hand on Casey’s perfect breast… in his mind, she awoke and smiled, rolling over and pinning him down to the bed… in his mind, she took him inside easily and rolled her hips just right, rocking atop him, her blue eyes closed, nipples pert as they had been beneath the stream of water from the shower as she moaned his name…

Derek scowled, shifting uneasily on the floor, hoping that the looseness of his jeans hid his erection. “Well, wake up earlier, buddy,” Derek snapped scornfully. “I’m starving. There’s no food left in this house. How is there no food left in this house? It’s only been one night.”

“We were supposed to go shopping today,” Emily said, shrugging. “My aunt left us some money in that manila envelope on the counter.”

“Great!” Derek yelled, jumping up with surprising agility. He needed to get out of the white house, he needed to stop looking at Casey sitting comfortably in Sam’s lap. “I’ll just take that and go to the store.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Casey said, scrambling to her feet as well. “I am not going to live off cookies and frozen pizzas for the next week.”

“Try and stop me,” Derek taunted, running to the counter and pickup up the envelope. “We will eat like kings!”

Casey felt ruffled. The others were all laughing as Derek danced in front of her, holding that manila envelope, like an organ-grinder monkey in that bright red shirt. His eyes twinkled and his cheeks dimpled as he grinned at her. As much as he was an obstinate, immature buffoon, he was funny. He would be the death of her, he really would…

Casey pursed her lips again, then remembered him kissing her the night before and quickly relaxed her mouth, letting her brow wrinkle instead. Safer. She stuck out her hand, attempting to snatch away the money, but failed and jumped a little, trying again.

Derek’s heart skipped a beat, watching Casey’s cleavage rise and fall as she hopped towards him. His momentary lack of focus allowed her to grab the envelope out of his hands. Their fingers brushed.

Casey felt distinctly undone, and smoothed her hair. She scowled and grabbed Sam’s car keys off the hook on the wall. “I’m going to the store. It’s just down on Main Street, isn’t it, Em?”

“Yes, but – ” Emily began.

“Oh, no you don’t, Princess,” Derek sneered. “I am not eating wheat germ and soy shakes for the next week!” Casey had already run out the front door and Derek grabbed it before it slammed shut, following her out onto the drive.

The door slammed and a befuddled Sam and Jenny joined Emily in hearing the van engine turn over.

“It’s supposed to storm,” Emily finished. She, Jenny, and Sam looked out the big bay window at the sky over the sea. It seemed to rumble blackly with some kind of ominous portent, and Emily’s heart did the same. Somehow, it would be a very long trip to the grocer’s.

° ° °

It was drizzling by the time Casey parked the van. There was no lot at the grocer’s, as it was right on the water, so they’d had to drive another few minutes down the beach and park the red van on a patch of grass. Derek had jeered her the entire drive, and kept jabbing his finger into the side of her leg whenever she slowed back to the speed limit, which annoyed him. Casey regretted wearing the short, airy eyelet skirt. She was showing too much skin. It burned each time Derek’s finger prodded her thigh with annoyance. Derek firmly believed in driving a few kilometers over.

Shopping had been arduous, because Derek had vetoed all of Casey’s greens and Casey had pooh-poohed his candies and frozen French fries.

Casey couldn’t help feeling that Derek was crowding her. He reached around her to get to items on shelves, his chest pressing against her back warmly. When they bickered over vegetables or ice cream, his face was so close to hers that she could count his freckles. When he reached around her to try and knock a block of tofu out of her hands, his forearm had raked against her breast and she’d spun, tingling, to grab his wrist. She could hear his breathing as they sneered at each other.

She had heard his breathing one Saturday afternoon back in London and it made her face turn red with the memory. He had been hiding in the bathroom closet when she went to take a shower, and rather than chase him out, she’d decided to leave him there. In her mind, it was only fair: she listened to him have sex through the vent between their rooms without his knowledge; she could let him have his voyeuristic moment. She had acted for him, in that shower, desperately straining her ears over the hiss of the water, wanting to hear him, knowing his sounds, lusting for them to be made for her, just this once: when she heard that tiny, nasal sigh, her knees had almost collapsed in joy, but she had to continue to run her hands along her body like she had no idea.

“Stop it, Derek,” she had fumed, dropping his wrist quickly, praying he didn’t see her face flush. He had acquiesced a little too easily, letting her drop the tofu into her shopping carriage.

Once they had paid for their groceries and argued just outside the queue about the leftover money – Derek wanted to pocket it, and Casey thought that it should be returned to Emily’s aunt – they each picked up a heavy plastic bag and pushed each other through the front doors of the store.

The rain was torrential.

To Casey, it seemed they had stepped out of the grocer’s and directly into a waterfall. All she could see was gray: gray clouds, gray steam rising from the pavement, gray water. The roar of the rain split her eardrums, and her eyes screwed shut against the charcoaly wetness. She was drenched, and the cold water clashed with the hot air. The bags in her hands seemed to gain a thousand pounds when they were soaked, and she could barely see Derek beside her, let alone the path back to the car.

Suddenly Derek’s hand was on her shoulder. She turned and saw that he’d put his face close to hers and was yelling over the rain. “Case, follow me to the car! Holy shit…”

Casey squinted, hoping water wouldn’t run into her eyes, and nodded.

“Let me take one of your bags!” Derek yelled, holding out his hand. Casey handed him a sopping wet bag and grabbed onto the back of his red t-shirt. She followed him blindly into the wave of gray rain, feeling her short skirt stick to her legs, the rain somehow managing to hit in both continuous shards of water and quarter-sized cannonballs that stung and made it hard to see. She could just imagine Derek leading her right into the ocean, letting her be swept out to sea: all of his problems solved. But she still held on, following his blurred form. 

Suddenly, there was the red van – heaven knew how Derek had found it – and Derek was unlocking the door, throwing his own bags inside and clambering into the second row of seats. He held out a wet hand and Casey grabbed it, letting him pull her into the van, too.

Casey collapsed against the black leather seat as Derek leaned across her, dripping cold rainwater on her as he slammed the sliding door shut. They were in the wrong seats, but there was no way either of them could have seen to drive back to the white house. From the view in the windows, the van was underwater. Derek and Casey were floating isolated in a world alone, just wet clothes and cracked black leather and the gray gray rain.

Derek sighed as he finally wrestled the door shut against the power of the rain. He realized that he was leaning across a soaking wet Casey: her hair was plastered along the sides of her face, her mascara smudged around her bright blue eyes. Her short white skirt was stuck to her beautiful, shining legs… her t-shirt clung to her body and had become transparent. Rather than slink back into his own seat, Derek took a deep breath to calm his jumping stomach and decided to take a chance.

After all, Derek got what he wanted. He had done it last night, he could do it again. Even if he were only rewarded with another stinging slap, he would have kissed Casey again. A slap couldn’t erase a kiss.

Casey knew moments before it happened what Derek was about to do. Visions of Sam flashed through her mind: his timidity, his tentativeness, his submissiveness. Sam always asked permission.

Derek didn’t ask anything, didn’t pause as he brushed Casey’s wet hair away from her cheeks. He held her face gently in his warm, wettish hands and bent his head to meet hers. He brushed his lips against hers as he had the night before, making sure she knew from the movement of his lips that he wanted her. To his amazement, Casey reciprocated, her hands smoothing his wet hair back, her tongue pressing against his lips for a moment before being beckoned inside.

There was something about kissing Casey that made Derek feel powerless. He knew he had little to live up to – only Sam and Max, as far as he knew, and Max hadn’t gotten anywhere and Sam wasn’t worth much – but there was a purity about her that made him nervous. Somehow, her kisses felt newer, crisper; he could taste something akin to rebirth in Casey.

Casey, too, felt powerless, but she for once didn’t care. Derek was everything that Sam was not and that she wished Sam were: confident, passionate, dominant. When Derek kissed her, he really kissed her, no-holds-barred, his lips and tongue a country of their own for her to explore and get lost in forever.

In minutes, Derek’s dripping shirt was off and had been flung into the third row of seats. Casey smiled into their kiss – there was no way he could know that his wet shoulders fulfilled her daily fantasy of Derek after the shower – and he lay on top of her in the leather bench seat, his broad-shouldered torso pressing against her deliciously heavily. Derek pulled his lips from Casey’s and she saw something terrifying and breathtaking in his brown eyes.

“Case, I want you,” Derek whispered, his voice low and seductive as his hands slid over her wet stomach, pushing up her shirt. “It’s driving me insane.”

Casey bit her bottom lip. Derek wanted her. Derek wanted her! She could be that girl who murmured his name into his shoulder, about whom he sighed, she could touch him and taste him in all the ways she’d been afraid…

But Sam.

“What about Jenny?” she asked softly, circumventing her own guilt as Derek pulled her shirt over her head and began to kiss down her collarbone. Derek wanted her! She could barely think.

Derek lifted his head, looking cross. “Oh, fuck Jenny! I hate Jenny! I hate all of them. I’m with them because – because they’re not you, they’re nothing like you, I don’t have to worry about calling them Casey or people finding out that I’m imagining my stepsister every time I get off. Casey,” Derek pleaded as his fingers slipped into the right cup of her bra. “God, I just want you. Every moment. Of every day. Every goddamn day, Casey. Please.”

But Casey was barely listening. Derek had barely touched her nipple, but already there was a throb between her legs that she’d never felt from Sam. She wanted Derek to fill the aching need inside her. “Yes.”

Derek growled and reached around Casey’s back, unhooking the wet black bra and tossing it, too, away from the seat. 

“Derek,” Casey interrupted quickly, “We’re in public – what if – ”

“Look at the rain,” Derek murmured, kissing the tender spot just below Casey’s ear. “No one could see. We’re all alone.” His lips brushed her cheek as gently as birdsong as he spoke. Blinding rain crashed against the windows of the van deafeningly, but at that moment, Casey couldn’t hear it. Derek’s skin was smoother than satin as he shifted lasciviously against her and whispered again: “Just relax.”

With that, Derek’s lips finally found Casey’s nipple. His tongue darted from between his teeth and flicked against her tip, his warm lips encircled the puckered pink nub and he sucked gently, the slick insides of his lips caressing her skin and making Casey see stars. 

Casey moaned softly and ran her hand down Derek’s strong back, letting it slide beyond the waistband of his boxers above his jeans. “Derek… oh, God, please touch me, Derek…”

It was all Derek could do to retain any sense of control. Casey was begging him to touch her. It was what all of his fantasies had been made of for more than three years. And he was more than happy to oblige.


	4. Chapter 4

**° _Chapter Four_ °**

Gray.

° ° °

Emily sighed, unconsciously wringing her hands as she stared out the big picture window in the kitchen at the driving rain. She’d never seen a storm like the one raging outside: it had a personality, fierce and stubborn and relentless and passionate. 

No one could drive in this rain. That’s why Derek and Casey weren’t back.

It had to be.

Jenny sat at the kitchen table, her long blonde hair plaited into two long braids down either side of her nymph face, makeup-less, in one of Emily’s teal hooded sweatshirts and a pair of jeans. A mug of tea rested steaming by her left hand, the nails of which she was meticulously painting hot pink. She didn’t outwardly seem concerned about her absentee boyfriend, but the jiggling pedicured foot beneath the table betrayed her.

Sam, on the other hand, looked a bit of a mess. Emily could just barely make out his silhouette out on the deck, sitting alone in the rain, staring down in the direction of the shore.

The kitchen timer, shaped like a rooster, let out a shrill buzz and Emily jumped. Of course after Derek and Casey had run out the door, she had discovered the box of “Just Add Water!” blueberry muffin mix in the back of the pantry, and, too appease poor starving Sam, she had offered to make them. Sam told her not to be silly, that Derek and Casey would be back soon and he could just eat later with everyone else.

But that was almost two hours ago.

Emily pretended to keep her cool as she turned off the timer, despite her palpitating heart.

“Damn,” Jenny said complacently. “I smudged my polish.”

Emily grunted a noncommittal assent and grabbed a dishtowel to pull the muffin tin, once again, from the oven.

Muffins. That was her role. Muffin-baker and secret-keeper.

Thankfully, Sam chose that moment to slump, sopping wet, back into the white house, slamming the door behind him with effort against the wind.

“Are they back yet?” he asked dully, shaking out his wet hair and sending drops flying around the kitchen.

“No,” Emily said, “but I’m sure they’re fine. Sam, really. I’m sure they’re just waiting for the rain to die down.”

“What if they’re lying in a ditch somewhere?” Sam asked sadly, wringing out his shirt. “Dead in a ditch in my mother’s van!”

“Sam,” Jenny said, looking up coolly. She knew they weren’t dead in a ditch. She was pretty sure Sam knew, too – drunk as they’d been, they had all seen that kiss the night before. “They’re fine. Chill.”

“Yeah,” Emily said weakly, putting a muffin on a plate and wrapping a dry dishtowel around Sam’s goosebumped neck. “They’re fine. I promise.”

_They’re probably more than fine_ , Jenny, Sam, and Emily all thought wryly.

° ° °

The entire world was condensed into rain and electricity. 


End file.
